


it was you i was thinking of

by theglitterati



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterati/pseuds/theglitterati
Summary: “Okay, it’s a bad time,” Yuri said to Otabek. “But what are you calling me for?”“What?” Otabek said. “Oh, nothing. Just to talk.”Otabek introduces Yuri to the art of talking on the phone.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 12
Kudos: 156





	it was you i was thinking of

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from The Mixed Tape by Jack's Mannequin.

Yuri was at practice the first time his phone rang. Without thinking, he glanced around the rink; Yakov and LIlia were both in sight, both not on the phone. Had to be Grandpa then. He picked it up to answer it, then saw the name on the screen.

Отабек Алтын.

_What was he calling for?_

Yuri suddenly felt nervous. What was he supposed to say? Whatever. He figured, Otabek’s the one who called him, he can do the talking.

He pressed the screen to answer the call. “Hey, Otabek.” His own voice sounded strange to him.

“Hello, Yuri. How are you?”

“Uh. I’m good. How are you?”

“Good. Just finished practice. What are you doing?”

If this was some kind of emergency, Otabek wasn’t getting to the point very quickly. “I’m still at practice.”

“Ah. I forgot about the time difference. I guess it’s a bad time.”

“No, it’s—”

“Yuri!” Yakov yelled across the rink. “Back on the ice!”

“Okay, it’s a bad time,” Yuri said to Otabek. “But what are you calling me for?”

“What?” Otabek said. “Oh, nothing. Just to talk.”

“Yuri!” Yakov’s eyebrows were converging into one as he got angrier at Yuri for keeping him waiting.

“I’ll text you when I’m done practicing,” Yuri said.

“Don’t text me,” Otabek said. “I mean, you can. I just don’t like it very much.”

“Oh,” Yuri said. “I guess I’ll call you later, then?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to, but he didn’t want to lose the chance to talk to his new friend.

“Okay. Good luck with practice.”

“Thanks. Bye?” It came out like a question.

“Goodbye.”

The line went dead. Yuri lowered his phone, staring at the screen.

 _What the fuck?_ he thought. _Who calls people?_

***

When later came, after practice and tutoring and dinner, Yuri loafed around, putting off calling Otabek back. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to him — he did. He’d just never really done the whole talking-on-the-phone thing. It felt weirdly intimate. What if he didn’t know what to say?

It did seem fitting, though, that if he’d talk on the phone with anyone, it would be Otabek. Their entire friendship — which, so far, had a lifespan of two weeks — had been strange. First he was riding a motorcycle for the first time, then he was sitting in a cafe, and then Otabek was ripping a fingerless glove off his hand with his teeth on international television. Also a first. Kind of made a phone call seem like small potatoes.

Yuri settled on his bed, pushing Potya off his pillow. She made her disapproval clear with a hiss. He pulled up his contact list and clicked Otabek’s name.

It took Otabek till the fifth ring to answer. “Yuri?”

“Hey,” Yuri said stiffly. “What’s up?”

“Mm,” Otabek grunted. “I was asleep.”

“Oh shit!” Fucking time difference. “What time is it there, again?”

“Midnight.” It was only nine p.m. in Petersburg.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’okay.” Yuri could hear how tired he was. He found himself wondering what Otabek’s bedroom looked like. He didn’t even know where he lived. “Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“Yes! Um…” He ran through his schedule for the next day: ballet, practice, tutoring. “Call anytime after five. Eight, your time.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Yuri.”

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” he added.

Yuri hung up. He had a funny feeling in his chest. Despite being so nervous about the call, he wished that Otabek hadn’t gone back to sleep, that they’d been able to talk more. He rolled over, pulling Potya closer. She purred appreciatively.

He’d just have to wait until tomorrow.

***

He was prepared when Otabek called the next day. In bed, bottle of water on the nightstand, bedroom door shut. He was ready.

He’d told Otabek to call anytime after five. He called at 5:06. 

“Hi,” Yuri breathed into the phone.

“Hi.”

“How are you?” Yuri could ask questions, too.

“I’m okay. I’m tired.”

“What did you do today?”

“I had practice. Then I went to the gym.”

“The gym?” You couldn’t pay Yuri to go to a gym, especially after practice. World-class athlete or not, he was a lazy fucker. “Why would you do that?”

“Skating doesn’t exercise your entire body. It doesn’t help your arms, for starters.”

Yuri snorted. “I guess that’s why my arms are so skinny. Ow!” Potya had jumped on the bed, landing heavily on Yuri’s stomach. “You’re not skinny,” he added to her.

“What?” Otabek said.

“Oh, not you. My cat.”

“Ah. I’ve seen her on Instagram. Puma Tiger Scorpion, right?”

“Yes. I call her Potya.” He rubbed her head as he spoke.

“I’ve never had a cat. I had a dog when I was young.”

“What kind?”

“Maltese.”

Yuri wrinkled his nose. “Yappy little things.”

“Nah, she was good,” Otabek said. “She died a few years ago.”

“Oh, sorry.” Were all phone calls this sad?

“Thanks.” Otabek didn’t seem fazed. “What did you do today?”

“Practice, same as you. I had tutoring after, too.” Telling Otabek that made him feel like a baby. It didn’t used to be so bad, when Mila still went, but she’d gotten her high school diploma recently. Now he was stuck with a bunch of juniors, little kids at least two years behind him. “I bet you’re happy you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Actually, I do. I moved around so much for training that my schooling wasn’t very consistent. I got behind when I moved to the US, because at first, my English wasn’t very good, and I’m still trying to catch up. I have about a year left.”

“Wow, that’s shitty,” Yuri said.

“Actually, I don’t mind it.”

“Really?” Not what he expected from his motorcycle-riding, leather-jacket-wearing new friend.

“Really.”

“Do you get good grades?”

There was a pause. “Yes, sometimes.”

Yuri could tell he was being modest. “Fucking nerd,” he teased.

“You don’t get good grades?”

“I dunno. Average, I guess. Can’t do math, though.”

“Math is my favourite subject.”

Definitely a nerd. “Maybe you can do my homework for me then.”

“Absolutely not,” Otabek said, as though the suggestion scandalized him. “I could help you, though. Do you want to go to university?”

At fifteen, Yuri had honestly not given it the slightest bit of thought. “Probably not,” he decided right then. “I’ll just get rich from skating then be a coach or something once I get too old to skate. Yell at little kids and get paid for it, like Yakov does.” He pursed his lips. “Are you going to go? To university?”

“Not yet. Not until I retire from skating. But someday, yes.”

“What will you study?”

“I don’t know. My parents think I should do something practical, like engineering.”

“But you don’t want to,” Yuri guessed.

“I don’t know what I want,” Otabek admitted.

“Well,” Yuri said, “don’t do something you don’t like just because your parents want you to. That’s stupid.” That reminded him of something. “Hey, do you live with your parents?”

“No, why?”

“I dunno. I just wanted to know.”

“Oh. Well, I live with my aunt and uncle. My parents moved to the outskirts of Almaty while I was in Canada, and my aunt’s apartment is very close to the rink. So I moved in here when I came back to Kazakhstan.”

“Do you like living with them?”

“Yes, most of the time. It’s nice to have family to eat dinner with, and to talk to about things other than skating. Sometimes my aunt acts too much like my mother, though. And I also miss my parents. But I still see them more now than I did when I lived in North America.”

Yuri understood. He missed Grandpa all the time, and he was just in Moscow. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be on a different continent from your family.

“Yuri? My uncle is calling me for dinner now, so I have to go. I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer.”

“It’s okay.” Yuri paused. “You can call me again.”

“You mean after dinner?”

“No. Or yes, if you want to. You don’t have to. But I liked talking to you. I don’t do this very much. Talk on the phone. But it was good.” God, he was rambling.

“Okay,” Otabek said. “I’ll call again, then.”

“Okay. Bye, Otabek.”

“Bye, Yuri.”

***

And so it went on like that. Otabek called Yuri, and then Yuri called him, and soon they were talking every day after practice. Yuri hadn’t known what he was getting into, making a friend, but now he was excited every time the phone rang. Talking to Otabek was just so _nice._ He was cool and smart, and funny at times when he didn’t even realize he was being funny. They talked about skating, yes, but they talked about other things, too, their lives, their pasts, their futures. Also, he really did help Yuri with his math homework.

“How was your gig last night?” Yuri asked Otabek, one cold Saturday in January. He was in bed with Potya under about five different blankets.

“It was good. Very busy. People danced a lot.” Otabek wasn’t much for description.

“Did you dance?”

“No,” Otabek said definitively. “I’m a bad dancer.”

“How can a skater like you be a bad dancer?” Otabek was graceful and fluid on the ice.

“Trust me, I am.”

“Well, _I’m_ a good dancer.”

“I bet you are.”

“We should have hung around the club longer in Barcelona. Then I’d have shown you.”

Otabek was quiet on the other end of the line for a long time. “Maybe we should have,” he finally said.

“How late were you there last night?” Yuri asked.

“Late. Until two in the morning. I was exhausted.”

“Sounds cool.” Yuri’s Friday night had consisted of watching a shitty romcom with Mila and trying to catch popcorn in his mouth. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Having dinner with my family.”

“And then?”

“And then nothing. That’s all.”

“You’re not going out?”

“No,” Otabek said. “Are you?”

“No, but I’m not the one who DJs in cool clubs and rides motorcycles.”

“What does that mean?”

“I dunno,” Yuri said. “I guess I thought you’d be out, like, partying or something.”

“Oh,” Otabek said. “No. I DJ because I love music, and I love sharing it with people. Not because I love partying. I don’t even drink alcohol.”

“And the motorcycle?”

“Driving it is very calming.”

“Huh,” Yuri said. He considered all of this, filing the new information away in the folder labelled ‘Otabek’ in his head.

“You probably think I’m much less cool now,” Otabek said.

“Not really, no.”

***

Not everyone was thrilled about Yuri’s new (okay, not _new_ , just worse) telephone addiction.

“Why would you fly all the way here to Moscow just to sit in your bedroom on your little phone?” his grandfather yelled from the living room.

“Go take your nap, old man!” Yuri yelled back.

Grandpa appeared in his doorway a moment later. “Who are you even talking to?”

“Otabek.”

“That Kazakh skater?”

“Yes.”

“Well, tell him good luck from me, then. I’m going to cheer for him now instead of my grandson, who calls me an old man!”

“You are old, and you’re being grumpy. You really do need a nap!” Grandpa threw his arms in the air, muttering under his breath as he walked away.

“I heard that,” Otabek said on the other end of the call.

“Well, then, good luck to you.”

“Do you always talk to each other like that?”

“Basically. He knows I’m kidding. Grandpa knows he’s my favourite person in the world, don’t you, Grandpa?” he yelled. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Grandpa grumbled back.

“So, he’s your favourite. Where do I rank?” Otabek asked.

Yuri had to stop himself from automatically saying ‘second,’ which was the real answer. “Top ten,” he said coolly, glad Otabek couldn’t see him blushing.

“I’m honoured. If you don’t count my family, you’re number one on my list. I like talking to you more than anyone else.”

Yuri almost choked. How did Otabek just _say_ things like that? He felt like he had when they met in Barcelona, when Otabek told him he had the eyes of a soldier. “Me too,” he managed to croak out.

“Actually, maybe second,” Otabek amended. “After JJ.”

“OTABEK.”

“Just kidding,” Otabek said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you live with your grandfather before you moved to St. Petersburg?”

Ah. Yuri understood his real question. It wasn’t, ‘why did you live with Grandpa?,’ but ‘Yuri, where are your parents?’. The sleazier gossip columnists liked to ask him the same thing. But he found he didn’t mind telling Otabek about it.

“Well, my dad is dead,” he said bluntly, to get it out of the way. “He died in a car accident when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry, Yuri. I didn’t know.”

“Thanks. It’s okay. I don’t remember him at all.”

“What about your mother?”

Someone else might have pulled back, run away from hearing about Yuri’s tragic childhood. Otabek didn’t. Yuri liked that.

“She is…” Yuri searched for the words to explain. “A drunk. And a little bit crazy. I lived with her when I was very little, and she didn’t take good care of me. She would forget to make me food, or yell at me when I hadn’t done anything wrong. Grandpa is her dad, and when he saw that she wasn’t taking care of me, she made her let me come live with him.

“Now she lives in her own apartment. Sometimes. Other times she goes to rehab. It never works, though, no matter how many times she goes. I don’t really see her very much. Grandpa says that she wasn’t always like this. He says that my dad dying made her drink too much. But I can’t remember her ever being different.” It was more than he had ever told anyone about himself. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. He was definitely not crying.

“So, yeah,” he finished lamely. “That’s why.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Otabek said. “I think you’re very brave, Yuri.”

“Um,” Yuri said. “Thanks.” Brave, soldier. Otabek was always overestimating him. “Don’t, um, don’t tell anyone, okay? I don’t want my fangirls finding out.” Or his competitors.

“I will never tell anyone,” Otabek said solemnly.

“Okay. Mila knows, and Victor, but that’s it. That’s why Victor always acts like he’s my dad, I think. Bastard. Now Katsudon thinks he’s my big brother or something, too.”

“Katsudon?”

Yuri remembered that Otabek didn’t know the nickname. “Katsuki. Pork cutlet bowl.”

“Oh, right. That pork thing was weird.”

“Seriously.”

Otabek sighed. “I have to skate against him next week,” he said.

“You’ll destroy him,” Yuri said.

***

Enough of Russia was in Asia that Yuri thought he should be allowed to go to the Four Continents and hang out with Otabek. Instead, he was sitting at home, watching it on TV with Mila.

He’d talked to Otabek when he got to Osaka, and then again after his practices, which had gone well. But of course, Otabek was too busy to talk to him the day of his Short Program skate, so Yuri just texted him good luck and then glued himself to the screen to watch.

He forgot watching Otabek meant watching a bunch of incompetant assholes, too. Yuuri Katsuki skated a flawless program, Victor drooling like that poodle of his on the side of the rink. Disgusting. He got to watch JJ fall on his ass once, though. That was nice.

Finally, it was Otabek’s turn. Yuri muttered _davai_ under his breath, quiet enough that Mila wouldn’t hear, as Otabek took his starting position. 

He skated well, perfectly, actually, not falling or flubbing any of his jumps. But Yuri had a hard time paying attention to his skating.

He talked to Otabek every day, but it had been a long time since Yuri had seen his face. Unlike Yuri, Otabek didn’t update his Instagram multiple times daily. When he did see him, watching the hard set of Otabek’s jaw as he jumped, and the tiny smile that appeared on his face when he received the scores that put him in first, something started to pool in Yuri’s stomach. It felt like cresting the first hill of a rollercoaster, but somehow it also felt embarrassing. 

“Your new best friend did good,” Mila said.

Yuri just nodded. Of course he had.

Yuri still felt strange. He’d have to think about why. He sent Otabek a text in the meantime, full of praise and exclamation points and swear words.

He didn’t have to think for very long. Otabek called him twenty minutes later.

“Hi,” Otabek said.

And all at once, Yuri knew. He _liked_ Otabek. Not just as a friend, or not only as a friend, not anymore. He liked him the way Mila liked boys and Georgi liked girls and that awful, awful piggy liked Victor. That’s what the feeling in his gut was. It was _want._

“Yuri? Hello?” Otabek said. “I skated well, right?”

Yuri exhaled. “You were amazing.”

***

“I messed up.”

“You skated really, really well. You only fell once! It happens.”

“Not to Katsuki, it doesn’t.”

“Fuck Katsudon. I’ve seen him fall a hundred times. At least you still beat JJ! He better get used to wearing bronze, because we’ll be taking all the golds and silvers from him from now on.”

“I was lucky to get silver after that performance.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You were the best of all of them. And unlike Katsudon and JJ, you’re the only one that’s not a complete asshole.”

That made Otabek laugh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Yuri said.

***

Euros were a week later, and though Yuri couldn’t quite make an argument for Kazakhstan being part of Europe, he wished Otabek was there anyway. They were only in Helsinki this year, not even that far from home, but Yuri felt like he was on the other side of the world.

He felt off, too. He’d been antsy since the Four Continents, worrying about Otabek and liking him and all kinds of dumb, sappy shit he didn’t want to think about. But he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it. Otabek buzzed through his head all through practice, where he fell more than usual and got really pissed off about it. Plus, there was no one here to distract him. Mila was off with the Crispino girl, and who did that leave him to hang out with? Not her creepy ass brother and his Czech shadow, that was for sure. And certainly not Chris Giacometti, who was like, what, forty? Even Katsuki would have been better company. Yuri couldn’t wait for this to be over.

It felt like months passed before he got to skate his short program. When he did, it was technically fine, but wobbly. He landed his jumps, but it was an effort to do so, nothing like how easy they normally felt. By the end, he was so exhausted he felt like he’d skated ten programs. He was still in first, though, so that was good enough.

He called Otabek as soon as he got back to the hotel.

“Yuri,” Otabek said when he answered. Not hi, not hello, just _Yuri._

“Did you watch?”

“Of course. You were perfect.”

“Not perfect,” Yuri said, blushing anyway. “My quad toe was shitty.”

“Well, that’s okay.” Otabek paused. “Your hair is getting long. It doesn’t show as much in your pictures as it did on TV.”

“Yeah,” Yuri said. He twirled a piece of it around his fingers. He liked that Otabek noticed it. “It’s actually getting kind of annoying. Should I cut it?”

“If you want,” Otabek said, “but I like it long.”

Yuri was over the hill of the roller coaster and headed right for the loop-de-loop.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do.” Otabek’s voice was breathy.

“What else do you—”

“Yuri!” Yakov barged into the room. Why the fuck did he have a key? He grabbed Yuri’s phone from his hand. “Hello, Otabek, nice to talk to you. Yuri has to go to sleep now.”

“Fuck off!” Yuri screamed. “Give me the phone!” He wrestled it back from Yakov, who held up two fingers at him: two minutes till bedtime. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I have to sleep, too. It’s four in the morning here. I stayed up to watch.”

Maybe Otabek always did that, to size up his competition. Yuri didn’t care. He found it sweet. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, after.”

“Okay. And Yuri?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

***

Even with Otabek’s blessing, Yuri lost to Chris by a point and a half. He fell on the stupidest jump, a triple fucking toe loop of all things. He was a whole new level of angry in the Kiss and Cry. Which was why, upon getting back to the change room, he grabbed the first thing he saw and whipped it at the wall. It was only after it shattered that he realized it was his phone.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. “Fuck!” he said out loud. He ran over and picked it up, but it was in pieces. He didn’t even need to try it to know it was unsalvageable. Which meant he couldn’t call Otabek, which was the one thing that might have actually made him feel better. God, he was stupid.

He went and asked, then begged, Yakov to get him a new phone, but he refused to do so until they were back in Russia. Which wasn’t going to be for two days. He couldn’t even use someone else’s phone to call Otabek because he didn’t know his number. He settled for logging into Instagram on Lilia’s phone and messaging him.

_Smashed my phone like an idiot because I was pissed about losing. I’ll call you as soon as I get a new one._

There. Now he just had to get through the exhibition skates and the banquet. 

This was going to suck.

***

Yuri finally got a new phone two days later, on the way home from the airport. He ran to his bedroom at Lilia’s, slammed the door, and put on headphones. Then he called Otabek.

The phone rang and rang. Otabek didn’t answer.

However, texts from him over the past few days popped up on Yuri’s screen: _Yuri?_

_I’m sorry if my message freaked you out._

_We can just pretend it didn’t happen._

Then, from just a few hours ago: _I’m sorry._

What the hell?

Finally, the third time Yuri called him, Otabek picked up.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I just got my new phone!”

Otabek was quiet. “New phone?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you see my Instagram message?” Between the weird texts and Otabek’s confusion, Yuri was starting to think he hadn’t.

“What? No. I hardly ever go on it.”

“I broke my phone at the Euros. I smashed it because I lost. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

“That’s… Oh my god. Okay.” Otabek gave a weird little laugh. “I thought… never mind.”

“What are all these texts you sent me? What message are you talking about?”

“Oh, you got those?” Otabek sounded almost disappointed. “Just ignore them.”

“What? No. You sounded upset. Is something wrong?”

“I… I left you a voicemail. I feel silly about it. You can just ignore it.”

“A voicemail? God, Otabek, you really are like a hundred years old. I don’t even know how to check that.” He poked at his phone, trying to find the button for it. “What did you say?”

“Nothing important,” Otabek said. He was a horrible liar.

“What did you say?!” Yuri demanded. “I have a right to know!”

“I… you really want to know? It might make you angry.”

“Yes!” Yuri was starting to worry now.

“Okay. Okay. Maybe you should just listen to it. I’ll send you instructions on how.” Otabek paused. “It’ll be better this way. Then you can decide if you want to call me back after you listen.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“You’ll understand when you hear it,” Otabek said. Then he hung up on him, something he’d never done before.

Yuri stared at his phone, completely confused. What on earth was going on?

A minute later, he got a text with instructions on how to check his voicemail. He followed them, calling the number and putting in 1111 as the password. It worked.

 _You have eight new messages,_ a robotic female voice said.

Eight?

 _Message 1:_ Hi Yurio, it’s Victor, I’m just calling to—

_Message erased._

_Message 2:_ Yurioooooo! It’s Yuuri 1! Or you can be Yuri 1, if you want. I miss youuu!!!

_Message erased._

Message 3 was from Yakov, yelling at him about something that happened four months ago. 4 was Mila, drunk. 5 was Yuuri, drunk, again. 6 was a butt-dial from Grandpa. 7 was Yuuri again, sober this time, asking him if he’d help him learn Russian to surprise Victor, which, god, no fucking thank you, would those two ever, _ever_ just leave him alone—

8 was from Otabek.

 _Message 8:_ Hi, Yuri. It’s me. I just watched your long program, so I know you’re not going to answer, but I called anyway. I just wanted to say: I know you’re going to be angry because you lost, but you still skated beautifully. You always do. I never get tired of watching you. Or talking to you. We talk everyday and I wish I could talk to you more… Yuri, I called to tell you that I have feelings for you. I hope that when we meet again at Worlds I can—

 _Beep._ The message cut off there. He’d run out of time.

_To delete this message, press 7. To save it, press 9. To replay it, press 5._

Yuri pressed 5, then pressed it again when he was done. Then he hung up and called Otabek back as quickly as he could with shaking hands.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You listened?”

“I like you too,” Yuri blurted out. “Otabek. I like you so much.”

Silence.

“Really?”

“Really. What were you going to say you wanted to do at Worlds?”

“Oh… I was going to say that I wanted to kiss you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I want you to.”

“Okay.”

Yuri felt like he might throw up.

“I thought you were going to be mad,” Otabek continued. “I thought I had made you uncomfortable, and that’s why you didn’t call.”

“If you weren’t such a fucking grandma and checked Instagram more than once a year you would have known!” Yuri half-yelled. He was giddy. The roller coaster was over now, and he was breathless and full of adrenaline, laughing instead of screaming. “It was horrible not being able to talk to you, even for two days.”

“It was awful.”

“I wish I could see you right now,” Yuri said.

“Me too.”

“How long until Worlds?”

“Six weeks, three days.”

“Fuck. That’s forever. Wait. I have an idea.” Yuri hung up and pressed Video Call instead, rapidly fixing his hair as the phone rang.

Otabek’s face popped on-screen, and Yuri finally got to see his bedroom. It was painted a burnt orange colour, and there was a book on the night table, and a clock, and a candle, which Yuri thought was both weird and kind of adorable. Otabek’s hair was mussed on one side from where he’d been lying on it. Yuri committed the image to memory. “This is better,” he declared.

Otabek just stared at him, taking him in the same way he had. “Yeah,” he said. He looked a little stunned.

“Oh, look!” Yuri grabbed Potya, who was cleaning herself on the bed beside him. “Potya, say hi to Otabek!”

Potya declined to comment, choosing to lick Yuri’s face instead.

“Hello, Potya,” Otabek said politely.

“She’s really happy to meet you,” Yuri assured him.

***

“How long?”

“Three weeks.”

“That’s still too fucking long.”

“I know.”

“I want to see you in person.”

“I want to touch you.”

“God, Beka!”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not!”

“You definitely are.”

***

“When did you realize you had feelings for me?”

“When I watched your short program at the Four Continents. It was like, all of a sudden, I just knew. I had been feeling it for a long time, but I didn’t know until then. What about you?”

“Since the first time I called you.”

***

“When does your flight get in?”

“Midnight.”

“That’s so late!”

“Yeah. I probably won’t see you until practice the next day.”

“Ugh.”

“I know.”

***

1:03 a.m. 

_Are you here yet?_

_Bekaaaaaaaaaaaa_

1:21 a.m.

_I’m here._

1:22 a.m.

_Yayyy!!!!!!!!!!_

1:24 a.m.

_You should be sleeping._

1:24 a.m.

_Yeah, yeah_

_See you tomorrow_

_ <3 _

1:27 a.m.

_ <3 _

***

Yuri got to the rink early the next morning. Normally, Yakov had to drag him out of bed, but today it was the other way around. He also normally checked in and then hid in the skaters-only areas where no creepy fangirls would find him, but today, he was practically greeting people at the door. But an hour passed, and the rink went from empty to full, and still he couldn’t see Otabek anywhere.

He ran through the crowd, looking for Otabek and avoiding people he knew that might interrupt his search. He was about to give up when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Yuri.”

Yuri spun around, and there he was. Otabek smiled at him, a real smile, one that Yuri had never seen Otabek bestow upon anyone but him.

“It’s nice to see you,” Otabek said.

Yuri launched himself at Otabek, hugging him tight and burying his face in his shoulder. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but they were happy tears. Otabek was warm and soft and strong, and he smelled good, and he was _here_ , really, really here. Yuri held on for a minute, then pulled back to get a good look at him.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at kyrstin.tumblr.com.


End file.
